Stillness, frost, a clear sky before dawn.
All sleeping.
A small finch settles, lifts its tail, begins to sing a brief note,
Repeating it.
Like a heartbeat, the rising falling rhythm of a distant train
Lays down a base.
The birds mark off their notes, counting uneven seconds.
Seagulls sailing over.
Trills of song, little scoops, like flower garlands iced around a cake.
Silence.
Taking their own time.
Each sings a note of her own, each bird.
Improvising ,
Or echoing her origins; a local song, a native song,
A hymn to morning, a warning,
Each complaint, each argument,
Each cry for attention.
In the still spell, between dawn and sunrise,
Between light and manrise,
The dawn chorus of voices.